


Scarring

by ExpectedBehavior



Series: Star Trek xB: The Search for Hugh [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Picard, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Aliens, Amputation, Angst, Blindness, Brain Surgery, But this is still a really bad time for Hugh, Cinnamon Roll Hugh, Cybernetics, De-assimilation, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deassimiliation, Dissection, Ex-Borg, Eye Trauma, Gen, Hugh needs a hug, Hugh survives!, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, I am not writing Hugh sex ever, I'm trying to tag with even things that will just be a mention in order to protect people, I've tried not to write explicit gore, Implant Removal, Implants, Implied/Referenced Torture, Medical Experimentation, Medical Procedures, Medical Torture, Medical Trauma, Needles, No Sex, Prosthetics, Restraints, Revenge, Scarring, Scars, Surgery, The Borg, There will be comfort in the future but this is a bad time, Torture, Vivisection, electric shock, individuality, injection, xB - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:32:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23158333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExpectedBehavior/pseuds/ExpectedBehavior
Summary: How exactly were Hugh’s Borg implants removed between the events of "Descent" and Star Trek: Picard, and why does he have so much heavy outward scarring when Seven of Nine and Picard have none?Unfortunately, there are only so many medical "professionals" in the galaxy who will treat a Borg drone, even if they have been disconnected from the Collective...
Series: Star Trek xB: The Search for Hugh [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664704
Comments: 38
Kudos: 30





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of MANY fic ideas I want to explore for the character of Hugh from Star Trek TNG and Picard. I have never written multi-chapter fic before, so please be gentle lol. I will do my utmost to keep updating this, but there may be a week or two in between chapters. Current chapter estimate is probably 6 chapters, but things could change.
> 
> I have tried to research timelines and terms used within the ST universe in order to make this fic as canon-esque as I could, but I am making a lot of assumptions and decisions with very little data. Still, I feel that detail can help immerse the reader in the story more thoroughly, so I did my best to fill in the gaps without contradicting established canon TOO much. <3

Hugh was alone on a single-person ship. This isolation had become the new standard for him since leaving his small group of liberated Borg drones, 14 regeneration cycles ago. If he had been able to better articulate the concept of “emotional distress”, he’d have said the decision to depart was a difficult one to make. As it stood, he only had a vague sensation of something erroneous, and he was having trouble isolating the source. His failure to identify the problem's cause only made the feeling increase. 

_ **Feeling**… I am still analyzing what a “feeling” is. Emotions are strange; my analytical subroutines are not able to fully process their source, or their purpose. _

At least this time there was a purpose and intent behind his self-isolation. He had finally obtained information on a surgeon who claimed to be able to remove Borg implants, and he needed to confirm the efficacy of his procedure. Ex-Borg (or xBs as they had tentatively begun calling themselves) were not exactly welcome inside most planets’ medical complexes, which made removal of their rapidly degrading implants difficult, to say the least.

When Hugh last spoke to his growing group of liberated xBs, his second in command had informed him that the group was currently working to increase the energy output of the converters they had recently salvaged from a crashed Borg scout ship. The former drones were encountering an increased number of derelict Borg craft in recent months, complete with aimless drones whose links to the Collective had been severed. Hugh’s group had not yet identified the reason behind these severances, but they continued to investigate. Whatever the cause, the additional disconnected drones were increasing the size of the liberated Borg colony and adding to the group’s collective (for lack of a better term) knowledge as these new members provided more up-to-date information from the hivemind.

The more drones that joined their group, however, the more it became apparent that the xBs could not indefinitely maintain their cybernetic components — they just did not have the resources the Collective did. Or, more accurately, as individuals, they did not possess the callousness to murder damaged members of their group and “recycle” their components. The nanoparticle technology inside them, while extremely adaptive and regenerative, still had a finite number of cycles before it required replenishment, much like the organic process of receiving a blood transfusion. Without the resources of a fully functioning Cube, Sphere, or Queen, this wasn’t an option for the xBs, and so Hugh began searching for a way to solve this problem for his new “collective”.

Some of the former Borg that made their way into his group had been drones for decades, though the casual observer would not have been able to discern this. (Assuming any observer could be “casual” when faced with the Borg…) Each drone’s internal nanoprobes were constantly repairing the degrading biological cells caused by aging or injury, but apparently even Borg technology has a lifespan. And that wasn’t even taking into account the wear and tear on the physical prosthetics and implants each and every drone sported, which the nanoprobes could only partially repair. 

Hugh did a mental calculation of many members of his new xB “collective” he had lost to implant malfunction or degradation, and though the number wasn’t even a fifth reciprocal of the number of drones he’d helped liberate over the years, just viewing the number on his ocular display caused an uncomfortable sensation in his alimentary tract. He made a note to confirm his vital functions when back with his colony — he had experienced an increase in these abdominal pains on this excursion compared to his day-to-day activities and wished to know the cause. 

As for his current mission, he had gotten the name and location of this particular surgeon from a Ferengi on Freecloud, in exchange for some of the Borg hive-mind data Hugh retained. Some of it was assuredly out of date, considering how long he’d been disconnected from the Collective, but the Ferengi he’d dealt with was young and inexperienced, trying to prove himself in a First Venture. As a result, the trader hadn’t done as much due diligence as he should have to verify the data was still actionable, but then again, Hugh hadn’t been asking for much in return. Just a name, a set of coordinates, and no further questions. Not that it was hard to guess why the young drone wanted the information.  After all, there were only so many off-the-books medical “professionals” who performed de-assimilation procedures.

Nevertheless, even a single full Borg can be intimidating, and the Ferengi was eager to quickly conclude negotiations once he saw Hugh in the flesh, as it was. He even forewent the customary Trading of Insults. Hugh would have found the entire encounter amusing had he fully grasped the concept of “humor” yet. Instead he just filed the trader’s behavior away for future analysis. It was habit by this point, but a small part of him wondered if he’d be able to analyze anything after the procedure was complete. 

Once the trader’s craft had departed, Hugh entered the coordinates into his navigational console. Then, while the small ship accelerated through the dark, he interfaced his internal databanks in sync with the ship’s onboard computer and attempted to cross-reference his own data files with the name he got from the Ferengi: Dr. Jansin Petek. Interestingly, between the two sources, his queries returned very little information about the doctor. Hugh knew when and where the man’s medical license had been obtained, he could view some local tax records for the clinic (including some inaccurate financial calculations which Hugh easily detected but dismissed as irrelevant to his purposes), and he found multiple advertisements for the doctor’s more “legitimate” services on numerous interplanetary networks. Nothing about de-assimilation procedures, but that was to be expected. Practitioners of such techniques did not exactly advertise in the open.

The ship dropped out of warp at a small planet in the Trinitan system, a backwoods rock just outside the major space lanes — a perfect place to conceal yourself for a time, if so desired. What passed for local authorities were easily bribed, and for the most part one of the lesser Andorran Syndicates ran the place (mostly through petty violence and the aforementioned bribes). He landed just outside the settlement indicated by the Ferengi’s coordinates and made his way into the town on foot. 

A short while later, the signal on his interface beeped twice, indicating the desired location had been reached. Hugh stopped and turned in a circle, scanning the landscape. As he was no longer linked to the hive-mind, he could not rely on visuals from his fellow drones to show his surroundings — he’d written a subroutine to fill in the gaps but it required a full 360 degree scan from his eyepiece. 

_ How do organics survive without an eyepiece? _

Thoughts of eyepieces brought Geordi to mind, and Hugh felt a rush of warmth at the mental image of his... friend.  _ Geordi does not have any functioning organic eyes, he has ocular implants. But he is still human. Perhaps it is not necessary to remove my eyepiece. It is tactically useful. I will ask the doctor.  _

His scan complete, his spatial algorithm pieced the images together for display in his optical lens. In front of him, a nondescript structure, one of a common range of prefab shelters available across many frontier worlds. No sign hung above the entrance. His subroutine completed and the results scrolled across his display. 

** _~~~~~~~_ **

** _Analysis: _ ** _ no threats detected in the immediate vicinity. _

** _~~~~~~~_ **

Hugh swiped the directional interface off of his display and stepped inside the building. 


	2. Investigation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The doctor is in.
> 
> Hugh has to make a decision, but has he made the correct one?

The interior of the building was as neutral (and unmemorable) as the exterior. No one was present in the space just past the entrance, so Hugh did another visual scan and identified a single closed door 2.35 meters to the right, a large piece of leafy vegetation in a hydroponic envelope 1.61 meters to his left, and no life signs present. He recalled that “potted plants”, as humans referred to them, were often present in medical facilities and were intended to encourage peaceful rest and regeneration. Hugh wondered if that meant the vegetation being used was a soporific species, and if the resulting spores were deployed within the building to cause the desired rest, but he had so far been unable to confirm or disprove this theory. 

_ Perhaps this is my opportunity _ , Hugh thought. He pivoted in the empty atrium and walked closer to the plant. He was using his right hand to scan and analyze the physical makeup of the frond closest to him when he heard a voice from behind. 

“Ahem.”

Hugh dropped the leaf and swiveled in place 180 degrees to face the voice. It belonged to a tall male humanoid standing in the doorway Hugh had identified earlier, which was now wide open. 

_ Why had his initial scans of the building not identified this lifeform?  _ Hugh tagged his scanning subroutine to run a full diagnostic when he returned to his ship.

The person looked at Hugh appraisingly, his behavior reminding the former drone of his own visual scans of new lifeforms. When he spoke, his voice was deep and carried traces of a faint accent that sounded familiar, though Hugh couldn’t identify why. 

“Ex-Borg, obviously. Judging by your electrical conduit arrangement and the visible age of your components, assimilated in the Beta quadrant between 2350 and 2370. The… hives... during that time were known for putting power couplings at the wrist, rather than the back of the arm.”

Hugh cocked his head. “That is accurate. I was assimilated in 2356.”

“Glad to see I haven’t lost my touch! We haven’t seen many ex-Borg here in recent years. Doctor Petek, at your service.” He reached out his hand towards Hugh, who awkwardly extended his own in return — the one without the power coupling. 

Hugh had learned much about social actions in the time since he had left the Collective, including the fact that many species used a form of tactile or auditory greeting. He had a catalogue of options in his databases and chose the most relevant one when faced with a situation such as this. But just because he knew the outward actions to take did not make his movements natural, and the results could be anywhere from comical to unsettling. The greeting known as “Handshake” was one of the first actions he had catalogued after being cut off from the Collective, however, and he had performed it frequently enough over the years to be able to pass as simply “awkward”. 

Doctor Petek shook Hugh’s hand once, firmly, then gestured to the interior of the room behind him. “Come, let’s speak more in my office.”

Hugh tilted his head in acknowledgement and followed Dr. Petek through the doorway. Once inside, the doctor leaned against the edge of his desk, facing his guest. 

“I don’t think I need to ask you why you’re here. You’d like to have your Borg technology removed, am I right?” Petek folded his arms across his chest as he continued to look Hugh over. The xB stood in the center of the room, arms at his sides, as his head moved in an arc to capture a scan of the office. Scan complete, he spoke.

“Yes, I would… like… to discuss removal of my implants. I have been informed you have completed this procedure previously. I require data to evaluate your effectiveness.”

Dr. Petek chuckled, a low rumbling from his chest. “I will never stop being amused at the speech patterns you ex-Borg have. Yes, I’ve removed Borg technology from drones before. I can provide you with scans of the patients and their results if that would suffice?”

Hugh nodded. “Yes. That would serve my purposes. Thank you.”

Petek raised his head, almost imperceptibly, at Hugh’s last phrase. But if he wanted to say something, he kept it to himself as he walked behind his desk and opened a portable display. As he input what were likely his personal access codes, Hugh spoke up.

“Why were you not afraid of me when I arrived?”

The surgeon didn’t even look up as he answered. “You used the pronoun ‘I’ when you referred to yourself. That, and you didn’t immediately announce that I was going to be assimilated.” He paused, then glanced briefly at Hugh. “I’ve also never seen a connected Borg interested in an office plant before. It was easy enough to piece together that you had been disconnected from the hive mind and aren’t a threat to me.”

Hugh processed these answers as Dr. Petek completed the log-on process. The man then raised his head and spoke again. 

“If you provide your transceiver code, I can transfer the files directly to your cortical node for review.”

Hugh paused. A Borg drone’s neural transceiver code was one of the few individualized pieces of programming in their system. It was the means by which the Collective could target an individual drone for specific orders… or for disconnection from the hivemind. It was a fundamental part of him, shared by no other drone, and he felt a very un-Borg-like sensation of possessiveness and vulnerability at the thought of giving it to an individual he had just met. 

The doctor caught onto Hugh’s hesitation. “If you prefer another method, please let me know. I just wanted you to be confident that I have not altered the files in any way to conceal substandard results, and I know that your analysis subroutines can quickly identify whether a bio-scan has been edited.” He looked pointedly at the former droner standing stock-still in his office, waiting for an answer. 

Neurons fired in Hugh’s cortical array. Algorithms calculated. The resulting situational assessment scrolled across his optical display. 

** _~~~~~~~_ **

** _Analysis:_ ** _ Insufficient data to recommend specific action. Please input additional data points. _

** _~~~~~~~_ **

Hugh shook his head. The unsettling sensations affecting him of late were increasing in frequency. He suddenly found himself revisiting the memory of when the Enterprise-D found his crashed scout ship in the Argolis Cluster. Why? He was different now, adapted to existence as an individual in a way that the past version of himself could not have imagined. Why, then, was his neural processor causing him to feel the same way now that he felt when he was first cut off from the Collective? That feeling of being uncertain, disconnected, out of place...

He looked up at Petek, who was still standing behind his desk, observing with an unreadable expression. Something clicked in Hugh’s mind. 

_This is what individuals do. This is what individuality means. An individual is one who can make a decision without the input of any other individual, even if the data is insufficient. __Especially_ _if the data is insufficient. An individual is responsible for the consequences of their decisions at cusp, and I am an individual. I am Hugh, not Third of Five, and I can decide for __myself__. _

“I am sending a request to your device with my transceiver code. Please transmit the files. Thank you.”

Petek nodded and tapped a set of keys on his display. Hugh began receiving the bio-scans the doctor had mentioned, the images flickering across his optical display… then suddenly he felt a debilitating surge of energy coursing through his body. His mobility servos began to shut down one by one, starting with his lower extremities and moving rapidly upward. As he dropped to his knees on the floor of Petek’s office, he felt the organs in his thoracic cavity seizing up. 

In his hivemind memories, a fragment surfaced -- the memory of a survey drone who had drowned during a planet-based assimilation mission. As he had been connected to the rest of the Collective at the time, the full experience of his death by suffocation had been transmitted to the other drones in the unit. At the time, the transmission had not caused any distress to the drones who received it, as the control of the Collective superseded any individual experiences. The feed was nonetheless catalogued and stored, as were all Borg drone transmissions, and eventually downloaded into the cortical array of recently-matured drone Third of Five when he was incorporated into the hive. 

And now, as Hugh’s internal organs shut down and his cyber-components froze completely, his database was grasping for whatever explanation it could find for what was occurring. Hugh didn’t require a review of that nameless drone’s memory, however -- he was experiencing it himself now, in real time. His lungs burning, he tried to initiate an override command to his exoskeleton but his neural cortex was not responding to his mental commands. A particularly hard muscle spasm shot through him, rocking his small form and causing his back to arch painfully.

Hugh’s optical display began to flicker as the surge continued upward, causing debilitating pain as it progressed. His subvocal processor had already been shut down by whatever was invading his body, so he couldn’t even let out a scream as the jolts coursed up his neck and through his face. Between the flashes of light and error logging that filled his display, he realized he had fallen over completely at some point and was laying on his side, his cheek against the office floor. He observed a pair of feet coming towards him, then Petek’s face appeared in his increasingly limited field of view.

If Hugh had been anyone other than an ex-Borg drone, he’d have described Petek’s expression in that moment as terrifying. But how do you describe “terror” to someone who himself was the subject of most of the galaxy’s nightmares?

Petek smiled. “I really didn’t think it would be that easy. Still, you can’t always rule out old tricks, can you? Sometimes the simplest methods are still the best.”

The former drone couldn’t vocalize a response, but then again, Petek wasn’t actually looking for an answer. Hugh could only stare straight ahead, his body convulsing in agony at semi-regular intervals while whatever Petek had sent to him finished shutting down all of his systems, both cybernetic and organic. Petek just continued to stare, and smile.

As his field of view began to narrow and dim, signalling that his optical array was failing, Hugh identified a new sensation building inside him. He felt absolutely and utterly terrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, friends, it gets dark from here. <3


	3. Assessment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are many things going through Hugh's head right now, and none of them are good...

** _~~~~~~~_ **

** _~ »PRIMCORTNODE ONLINE_ **

** _~ »REBOOTSYSCMD_ **

** _/e1278817d99983od_ **

** _~ »req AUTHCMD ↵_ **

** _/tgXh9nut0u3smoXQ1g8b_ **

** _~ »res AUTHACCEPTPOS_ **

** _~ »REBOOTSYSPOSIP_ **

** _~ »req SELFDIAGSCMD ↵_ **

** _/W5oq2Bpy97xfvBW894oZ_ **

** _~ »res SELFDIAGSCOMP_ **

** _~ »res MULTISYSDMG_ **

** _~ »req SYSREBOOTSTP ↵_ **

** _~ »req PWRDOWNREC ↵_ **

** _~ »OVERRIDE_ **

** _/o0vFNKBM02kD2HdWn6nc_ **

** _~ »res OVERRIDEACCEPTPOS_ **

** _~ »res SYSREBOOTCONT_ **

** _~ »res SYSREBOOTCOMP_ **

** _~ »resfin ALL SYSTEMS ONLINE_ **

** _~ »req NEW COMMAND_ **

** _~ »_ **

** _~ »_ **

** _~ »_ **

** _~~~~~~~_ **

Hugh slowly opened his right eye. A bright light shone directly into it, hiding everything else from view. He was not receiving any feed from his left-side optical display.

** _~~~~~~~_ **

** _Assessment:_ ** _ Confusion. _

** _Command:_ ** _ Run self-diagnostic. _

** _~~~~~~~_ **

He didn’t recall starting a regeneration cycle, but he must have if he was just now “waking up”. Hugh started his post-regeneration checklist, and immediately encountered a problem. His internal self-diagnostics routine was showing multiple failures across nearly all systems, both cybernetic and organic. More than that, it appeared that he was lying on his back on some sort of platform… A biobed, judging by the beeping sounds he could hear emanating from the underside. Beds of any sort were definitely not part of his regeneration process.

He tried to lift his head and scan his surroundings but was prevented from doing so by some unseen sort of restraint. Attempts to move his extremities showed him his arms and legs had also been secured to the biobed, but without the ability to move his head, he couldn’t discern how. Every bit of new information he obtained was only adding to his rising sense of confusion, and Hugh fell back onto the only thing that seemed to make sense: a full analysis of the data available to him.

After running through one more series of movement tests, each with the same outcome (that is to say, negative results all around), Hugh turned his focus inward and began a review of his internal databanks. His right eye closed again, the orb moving rapidly beneath the skin as he initiated a series of queries.

** _~~~~~~~_ **

** _Query: _ ** _ System review ~ » Execute _

** _Query Results: _ ** _ 6.23 solar hours have elapsed since last full system review. Multiple subsystems damaged by unknown power surge. Unable to complete repairs without additional resources. _

** _Command: _ ** _ Evacuate location. Return to regeneration alcove for full system repair. _

_ ~ » Command override.  _

** _Request: _ ** _ Situational assessment ~ » Execute _

** _Assessment: _ ** _ Level 6 threat estimate. Motivation unknown. Abilities unknown. Primary mission goal secondary to unit survival. _

** _Command: _ ** _ Evacuate location. _

_ ~ » Command override.  _

**_Request: _**_Evacuation not possible._ _Alternative command ~ » Execute_

** _Command: _ ** _ Eliminate threat. _

** _~~~~~~~_ **

Hugh abruptly exited his programming layer and returned to reality with what a human might have called a frustrated expression spreading across his face. The surprising lack of satisfactory analysis from his Borg subroutines was yet another new and unsettling development, one of many he’d encountered on this mission so far.

He reviewed his internal data feed from the last 8 hours, searching for any new information that might change the results of his computations. Starting with his entrance into the building, he recalled scanning the plant (_~ » _**_Scan interrupted. Analysis incomplete._**), speaking with Dr. Jansin Petek (_~ » _**_Threat identified._**), receiving the ex-Borg bioscan transmission (_~ » _**Source of energy surge identified.**), and then… then he felt-- (_~ » _**_WARNING:_** **_System files corrupted. Access sealed._**)

Abruptly, he heard sounds coming from behind his head -- a door opening and closing, then footsteps approaching. The face of Dr. Petek came into view. 

“Well, hello there. How was your nap?”

Hugh focused on Petek, trying not to think about the records his own cortical node had locked him out of. “Why am I restrained?”

“Now, now, that’s not how polite people respond to a friendly question.” Hugh glimpsed movement out of the corner of his functioning eye, and then a flash of searing pain ran through his entire cortical array and down his nervous system. His body tried to arch up away from the biobed but was prevented from doing so by the restraints. Those restraints couldn’t stop a high, thin cry from escaping Hugh’s lips, however.

The pain subsided more slowly than it had arrived, but soon Hugh was once again laying flat against the platform. He blinked multiple times, his mouth still gaping slightly. He couldn’t find an explanation in his databanks for what had just happened.

“What… what…”

“ ‘ _ What what what’ _ You Borg all sound like broken data files, did you know that?” Petek said in a disgusted voice. He walked out of Hugh’s line of sight to stand directly behind the xB’s head. 

“I… I am not Borg. I am Hugh. Why am I restrained? What are you doing?” He tried again to turn his head but had no more luck than before. But this time, his inability to move his head was causing a different feeling inside him. It was as if he was falling endlessly, with no way to control his descent and nowhere to land. It was… panic. This was what panicking felt like.

“You must release me.” Hugh could hear the doctor adjusting something behind his cranial ring. “You are not authorized to do this. Please release me please please please--” 

He was cut off by a stabbing pain in the top of his head. He gasped audibly, sucking in ragged breaths as he tried to isolate the source of the intrusion (to shut down the receptors there). The pain briefly leveled off before increasing again, drawing an involuntary whimper from his lips. Hugh could feel that something had been inserted through his cranial cap and into his brain tissue, and that it was being pushed  ** _further inside,_ ** but he didn’t know what it was or what purpose it had. The pain level plateaued again, but now that he knew that it was only a temporary respite before another increase, he tried to brace himself for the next level. 

Hugh clenched his teeth and writhed slightly against the platform as the pain ramped up again. The rapid modulation was making it impossible to focus long enough to cut off his neural relays to the affected area. Another very brief pause, then another increase, and this time Hugh was unable to hold back the ragged scream that tore from his throat. He felt drops of moisture on his face just below his right eye. 

_ ...Perspiration? His life support subroutines are supposed to regulate his body temperature. Perhaps they were among the damaged systems and are malfunctioning.  _

** _Perhaps they are shutting down._ **

_ If they shut down, I would no longer feel any of this.  _

_ I... _

_ ...I would like to shut down... _

** _~~~~~~~_ **

** _Request: _ ** _ Initiate… Initiate shut…  _

_ ~ » Invalid command. _

** _Request: _ ** _ Please shut down all… shut d... _

_ ~ » Invalid command. _

** _Request: _ ** _ Please! Make it stop! _

_ ~ » Invalid command. _

** _~~~~~~~_ **

“Well, that’s an unexpected development.” The doctor’s voice behind him sounded surprised. The pain in his skull seemed to dial back, leaving Hugh gasping with temporary relief. Petek walked around to the right side of the biobed and hovered over the restrained figure. “Tears… I didn’t think the Borg left the tear ducts intact. This is  _ very  _ interesting.”

_ Tears? I am… crying?  _ Hugh didn’t know what to do with this information. 

“You must release me. I did not authorize this… You  **must** ...” 

He trailed off, his mouth working but no words coming out. His right eye, brown and watery, darted around as if looking for something, or someone, that could help. When nothing seemed to present itself, it took a few moments for his lips to slowly stop their soundless twitching. He looked directly at Petek, his cheek still wet.

“Please…  ** _Why are you doing this to me?_ ** ”

Doctor Petek had been staring at the xB’s cheeks this entire time, fascinated at the emotional response coming from his captive, but at Hugh’s plaintive tone his expression turned from delight to ice. He straightened, then reached behind him and pulled a rolling stool towards the platform. Sitting down, he swiveled to face Hugh, his hands in his lap.

“Tell me. What are you?” The man’s voice was low and restrained. 

Hugh paused, unsure of how this fit into his current situation. “...I am Hugh.”

“Wrong. You’re a piece of murdering machinery that happens to have a face. You are a mindless drone whose only goal is to destroy all life in the universe. You are  ** _Borg_ ** .”

“That-- That is incorrect. I am no longer Borg. I was disconn--”

“Wrong again. You don’t just  ** _stop_ ** being Borg.” Petek pressed a button on the side panel of the biobed, causing it to tilt upwards. Hugh’s field of view shifted as he was raised into a vertical position, still secured to the platform. A full-body monitor screen was set up at the foot of the platform, and as the bed locked into its new position, he watched as the screen flickered to life. A 3D duplicate of himself stared back, no doubt captured via bio-scan while he was incapacitated. Petek motioned emphatically toward the digital copy of Hugh.

“Look at yourself. You are a  ** _thing_ ** . You are a cancerous clump of cells that infects every civilization you come into contact with. You are the monster that parents warn their children about at night.”

“No, I was disconnected. I am not Borg, I am  ** _Hugh_ ** .” The words spilled out in a rush.

Petek made a disgusted sound. “You are Borg, through and through. Would you like me to prove it to you?” At that, the doctor pressed another button on the side panel. The image on the display changed to show the cross-section of a brain. Hugh realized belatedly he was looking at  **his own** brain.

“I’ve been scanning your brain using a Dysian Imaging Relay. Technically it’s only meant to be used when mapping the neural structure of deceased individuals, due to the need to insert the probe directly into neural tissue, but I’ve never been one to restrict myself to ‘recommended guidelines’. But you… you  _ love _ following someone else’s rules, don’t you?”

Hugh swallowed thickly but didn’t respond.

The doctor chuckled darkly. “Let it never be said that the Borg can’t learn. We’ll table that topic for later discussion, then.” He walked over to the display. 

“Enhance quadrant 47 by a factor of 1e-9.” The requested image section expanded to provide more detail. “There. Do you see it? The nanoprobes infesting your blood are constantly replacing your tissue with Borg technology, re-coding your very cellular structure.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Whatever you were before, all that remains now... is Borg.” 

Tears threatened to completely overwhelm Hugh’s right eye, causing the display to waver in his vision. He didn’t know how to process all these new sensations he was suddenly experiencing. He wanted to shut down, start a regeneration cycle and never come out of it, be anywhere but where he was, but he couldn’t even control his own processes enough to stop a single source of pain. 

He squeezed his eye shut, feeling more tears leak out.

“Please…” Hugh’s breath caught on the word, turning it into a small sob. “Please, let me go.”

Silence. 

After a few beats, Hugh opened his eye again to find Petek staring directly at him, rage twisting his face into a crooked mask. When he realized the xB was looking at him, a more neutral expression slid into place over his features. Hugh honestly couldn’t determine which one was more frightening. Without a word, Petek walked back to the control panel and began to move the platform into a horizontal position again. Once the bed was lowered parallel with the floor, he moved to his earlier position behind Hugh’s head.

“I don’t think my scans have quite completed. Decisions must never be made without a thorough analysis of ALL of the available data. You understand what I mean, don’t you?”

Hugh unsuccessfully tried to suppress the panic rising inside his mind. He felt the probe, still lodged inside his head, powering back up.

_ I am not Borg. I am Hugh. I am not Borg. I am Hugh. I am not Borg.  _

_ I am not Borg.  _

_ I am not Borg...  _

** _I... am not... BORG!_ **

He couldn’t hold back any of his screams this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugh is having a really bad day. :( And it's going to get worse before it gets better...


	4. Separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petek learns more about Hugh. Hugh learns more about himself. Philosophy and pain go hand in hand.

“Time to wake up.”

Hugh was floating in a black abyss. It had been blissfully silent there, until just recently. Odd sounds had begun filtering in, disrupting his inky surroundings, but he couldn’t identify their source. A small part of him suggested running a systems query, but the larger part of his consciousness couldn’t recall what a systems query was. The sounds were getting louder. 

“I said, time to wake up, you piece of drakh.” 

Hugh felt the darkness receding, as if he were surfacing in a large body of water. Ahead of him was a light source, a murky glow on top of the water, but for some reason he didn’t want to return there. He tried to turn around and dive back into the darkness but he had no control of his body. He accelerated towards the light, and just as his face broke through the surface, he remembered why he didn’t want to go back… 

The light surrounding him seemed incredibly warm, like it was going to burn through his eyelids. A deep ache was slowly moving through his body, seemingly emanating from his head, and as more of his senses came online, the ache was changing from a background nuisance to something... unbearable.

He could hear that the noises from earlier had stopped, but that just made Hugh more anxious. He tentatively tried to open his right eye, without much success. It felt glued shut. He tried but still couldn’t move his limbs or his head. He couldn’t do  ** _anything_ ** . Hugh suddenly noticed his breaths were coming in shorter bursts, and his heart rate had risen.  _ This is panic. I am panicking. I have to calm down… _

Taking deep breaths in and out, Hugh tried to think of something, anything, that would be the opposite of his current situation. Scouring his memory banks, he reviewed years of memories in a matter of minutes.

His childhood… What was there to review? He recalled so little from that time. Fragmented images scrolled by in a glowing blur: a kind face hovering over his, a soft covering being pulled and tucked under his arms, strong hands placing a stuffed creature with blue hair and red eyes next to him, his own tiny fingers tangling in the toy’s fur... A peculiar feeling permeated these memories, but was it “happiness”? Was it enough? With a twinge of regret, Hugh pushed those golden memories back into their container and sealed it shut.

His time with the Borg? His capture, his assimilation, his time in a maturation chamber...  _ No no no leave those files unopened.  _

His scout ship crashing, when the crew of the Enterprise found him. The feelings of confusion and loss at being disconnected from the Collective.  _ I was… scared… uncertain... These aren’t the right memories, these aren’t “happy” memories--  _

And then Geordi’s face appeared.  _ “Hugh… We are Hugh.” “Resistance is NOT futile!” “Geordi does not wish to be assimilated.” “Geordi is Hugh’s friend…” _

Hugh felt his pulse slowing, his breath evening out. He tried once again to open his right eyelid and found that his tears ( _ Happy tears? Can tears be happy?) _ had loosened the cruft enough to do so. He cracked his eye open, blinking a few times against the bright light around him that threatened to force it shut again. After a few minutes of this, his optic nerve had finally adjusted enough to be able to make out the shapes and shadows around him.

And one shadow in particular was extremely close.

“It took you long enough to reboot.” Petek sounded annoyed. “I’ve never had a drone before that didn’t respond to my manual reset attempts. It’s tedious having to wait for your internal subroutines to do it.”

Hugh opened his mouth to respond, then thought better of it and snapped it shut. Petek just glared. “Your cortical node appears to be located directly behind your optical array. It would have been better if it had been installed on the opposite side, as that would have allowed me to access it more easily. Why your hive decided to change the standard assimilation layout is beyond me…” The doctor trailed off, seemingly muttering to himself while swiveling his stool to face a display set up next to the biobed platform.

Tapping the display with his stylus, which showed the 3D scan of Hugh’s cranium captured by the Dysian Imaging Relay, Petek “With your node buried behind another array, it means I can’t get to it from the side--” 

At this, he pressed the point of the stylus against the xB’s right temple. Hugh couldn’t suppress a reflexive flinch as the conductive metal tip made contact with his skin. Petek didn’t seem to notice as he continued with his speech, gesturing wildly towards the display with his free hand.

“--and the other usual avenues of access are blocked by your cranial ring and conduits. But I need to disengage one of your node’s relays FIRST before I can start the process of removing the ring.” He turned his body back to face the biobed. “You see my dilemma here?”

Hugh just stared straight ahead, focusing on a point on the ceiling, a slightly trembling lower lip his only movement. Seeing this, the doctor paused, as if he was just realizing that his subject was not exactly here voluntarily. After a minute or so, his eyes narrowed, his expression hardened, and he set the stylus down on the display cart. He rose to his feet, clasping his hands together, and stared down at his ‘patient’. 

“Oh, are we at the silent phase now? I’m honestly surprised. Judging from your performance during the Dysian scan, I really thought you’d keep up the begging and pleading for at least a little bit longer. At least, until I got sick of the noise and cut your subvocal processor out of your throat, of course.”

Hugh’s mouth tightened into a thin line.  _ Deep breaths.  _ ** _Geordi._ **

“No response to that? Don’t get me wrong, usually I’d be all for skipping the pleasantries and getting down to the business at hand. But right now, my business is blocked, and silence isn’t going to help me get there. So let’s try something else.”

_ In and out.  _ ** _Friends_ ** _ . Calm.  _ ** _We are Hugh._ **

Petek took a few steps along the side of the bed, until he was standing next to Hugh’s restrained left arm. The doctor pressed something cold against Hugh’s wrist (_A hypospray?_ _No, there was no release of propellant gas. An electromagnetic control band, under Petek’s sleeve..._), and Hugh felt his lower arm being raised to a 90 degree angle. He tried to move his fingers, or any part of his left arm, to no avail. He could still feel them, but it was as if they were made of lead. 

Petek held the arm loosely by the wrist and looked back at Hugh. “Hello? Can you see me?” He waved Hugh’s own arm back at him in a playful mockery of a greeting, and looked slightly miffed when the only response he got from Hugh was another silent stare.

“Fine. We’re going to play a question game. Every question I ask, you’re going to answer. For every answer that doesn’t satisfy me, I start cutting the skin from your hand.” At this, he picked up a laser scalpel from the cart near him. “If you lie to me, I start cutting. If you don’t answer, I start cutting. Basically, if you do anything EXCEPT tell me everything I want to know, I start cutting.” 

Hugh’s breath quickened.  _ Dee-- deep breaths-- Calm yourse-- _

“I’m going to confess: I haven’t done this before. I haven’t seen a drone that still had a mostly organic hand! But that also means I don’t know a reasonable estimate of how long a drone should be able to endure being flayed alive. It’s just never come up before now, so I  **really** appreciate you giving me the opportunity to test this particular technique out.”

His attempts at self-regulation were failing in the face of Petek's threat. Hugh was wracking his body against the platform now, trying desperately to get his other limbs free. Unfortunately, the remaining restraints held firm. 

“I’d really recommend you settle down and pay attention before you miss your opportunity to keep your skin attached. First question. What cube were you assimilated into?”

At Petek’s words, Hugh forced himself to focus, trying to slow down his racing heartbeat and ignore the scalpel in the man’s hand. He willed his body to stop the overt thrashing, though he couldn't control the trembling that still permeated his limbs. “I.. I was assimilated into Cube 267.”

“267… That’s a good start.” The doctor adjusted his grip on Hugh’s wrist, causing the xB to swallow thickly. “A good start indeed... Second question. How long were you connected to the hivemind?”

Not understanding the purpose behind these questions but grasping the severity of the situation he was in, Hugh answered... slowly. “I was brought onto the Cube at age 6 and placed into a Borg maturation chamber. After five years of accelerated physical growth, which amounted to ten objective solar years, my thoracic and cortical nodes had developed sufficiently to allow my incorporation into the Collective as a full drone.”

Petek interrupted. “Wait, you mean to say that the Borg were able to bring you from age 6 to age 16 in half that time?”

“Correct. Borg maturation chambers are capable of supporting either growth acceleration or physical stasis of the drones within them, depending on the need of the Collective.”

An odd expression briefly passed over the doctor’s face. “Interesting… Continue.”

“I performed scout activities for the majority of my time as a drone. I was Third rank in the scout ship. After a solar anomaly caused that ship to crash in 2368, I was found by a Federation ship and briefly disconnected from the hivemind.” Hugh paused, trying not to give too much away about his emotions for the Enterprise crew. “They... helped me understand who I was. They asked me to go with them, but I knew the Collective would not stop looking for them if I stayed on board. I asked to be returned to my scout ship.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hugh saw Petek’s face darken. “You  **chose** to go back to the Collective?” the doctor asked in a low tone. Hugh looked directly at his captor, trying hard not to let his voice waver. 

“I chose to protect my friends. I did not want to put anyone else in danger.”

When Petek said nothing in return, Hugh swallowed again before continuing. “After another scout ship retrieved me from the crash site, I was taken back to the main Cube and reconnected, but my new sense of individuality caused a catastrophic failure across the neural hivemind connection. The Queen cut the ship off from the Collective at that time, to protect the rest of the Borg.”

He looked over at Petek again, who was still holding the scalpel near Hugh’s hand but with a distracted expression on his face. After a few moments he shook his head, as if he were waking from a daydream, and turned his attention back to Hugh. “That is …a very fascinating story. I have never had a specimen that was incubated in a Borg maturation chamber. This is very good.”

At the term “specimen,” Hugh tensed. “...What do you want with me?” The question was quiet, hesitant, but he needed to know. 

“Uh-uh-uh. I’m the one asking questions right now. Remember our discussion earlier?” Petek brought the laser scalpel close enough to Hugh’s skin for him to feel the vibrations from the cutting edge, causing the xB to freeze completely. The doctor smiled ominously.

“Third and final question. Give me all the data you have for the species known as the P’rell.”

A pause. Hugh’s confusion was only increased by the abrupt change in subject. “What…”

Petek didn’t hesitate, and the scalpel’s glowing blade sliced through the xB’s flesh like it was paper. Hugh screamed, a primal response without thought, the ragged sound morphing into a babbling plea. “Stop! Stop, please, stop!”

The doctor’s hand paused, the scalpel blade hovering above a precise series of lines now etched into the back of Hugh’s left hand. There was no blood — the scalpel had cauterized as it cut — but the wounds gaped open. Three neat connecting slits, three sides of a square, and Petek was about to complete the shape and pull it from Hugh’s body when the xB gasped out: “P’rell, species data, I’m querying… please, stop!”

It took a massive amount of effort to push the pain and fear to the side and wrestle his consciousness back into his programming layer. He tentatively closed his right eye, activated a subroutine in his subvocal processor to dictate the query results aloud as they were returned, and sent tendrils of himself into his hive memory banks, searching for what the doctor wanted...

** _~~~~~~~_ **

** _Query: _ ** _ Species data ~ » Criteria | P’rell | ~ » Execute _

** _Query Results: _ ** _ Humanoid species designation 6876 (species language designation: the P’rell). First members of species assimilated into the Collective in 2365 after a research vessel crewed by P’rellians was located and scanned by a Borg scout ship. The organic life forms aboard were determined to possess heightened regenerative capabilities (a product of natural evolution enhanced with advanced genetic resequencing technology), which would aid in advancement of Borg assimilation techniques. Assimilation authorized by First Adjunct of Trimatrix 431.  _

** _Assimilation Data: _ ** _ 54 of 77 organic life forms on the ship were assimilated into the Collective, but after a short time, their altered genetic makeup proved to be fundamentally incompatible with Borg nanoprobes. All subjects expired within 2 weeks of their assimilation.  _

** _Analysis:_ ** _ Species is incompatible with Borg technology.  _

** _Command: _ ** _ Assimilation attempts for species 6876 are not authorized.  _

** _~~~~~~~_ **

Hugh exited his programming layer and was immediately assaulted by the pain in his hand, which was growing more unbearable by the second now that he was not actively focused on something else. However, that was nothing compared to his ratcheting levels of fear as he sensed the nearly-palpable rage flowing off of Petek. Hugh forced himself to stay perfectly still, waiting for (and dreading) whatever reaction was inevitably coming. 

After what felt like an eternity to Hugh, Petek carefully set his scalpel down on the cart and slowly lowered the xB’s arm back against the biobed’s surface. Then he sat down on the stool, facing the bed but looking at the floor. 

“Was it your scout ship?” His voice was quiet. 

“...I do not—“

“WAS IT YOUR SCOUT SHIP THAT FOUND THEM?” Petek’s voice boomed, terrifyingly loud in the empty room. He had jumped up from his seated position and was hovering directly over the bed. His hands slammed down on either side of Hugh’s head. 

Hugh stared in shock as the pieces fell into place. “No… no, it was ( _ ~ »  _ ** _Query databanks, result received._ ** ) ...it was a scout ship from Cube 243.”

Petek pulled back a little bit at that answer, then turned completely and walked back to his tool cart. Hugh released a deep breath he didn’t even know he had been holding in. This entire experience was flooding him with emotional responses that he didn’t know how to handle, and there wasn’t even enough time between events to properly process what he was feeling. He felt untethered in a way he hadn’t felt since Lore found his ship, and the parallels of ex-drone experimentation were all too familiar...

_ How do organics cope with this kind of emotional overstimulation? How did Geordi cope with Data experimenting on him…  _ He tore himself away from that line of thought. He couldn’t afford to hide in his memories right now, no matter how much he wanted to.

The doctor was standing with his back to the biobed, his hands hidden from Hugh’s view as he manipulated something on the cart. As the xB watched him with heightened nerves, he realized with sudden surprise that Petek had not reactivated whatever restraining mechanism had been holding down his left wrist. Hugh fought to keep his expression from changing -- he didn’t want to alert Petek to his oversight. It might be his only means of escape. Keeping his eye trained on the doctor as best he could, he quietly tested the movement of his fingers. Interminable seconds passed, but his fingers still refused his commands. He had nearly given up when he saw a slight tremble of his index finger. He increased his concentration, still sneaking glances at Petek, and was rewarded with a weak lift of each digit.  _ Good, this is good. This is progress. _

Petek abruptly turned around, and the answering fear that shot across Hugh’s face was one hundred percent genuine.  _ Did he see? _ But the doctor didn’t even spare a glance at Hugh’s hand, and instead walked over to stand directly beside his captive’s head. 

“I think we’ve had enough of a chat today, don’t you?” The lilting, mocking tone was back in Petek’s voice, and Hugh swallowed back a small moan at the man’s words. “I really do need to access your cortical node, so let’s get to it. Based on what you told me about the maturation chambers on your ship and your age at the time of your assimilation, I’m guessing your optical array is more closely intertwined with your nervous system than that of drones who were assimilated as adults. That means that carving the array out of your head is likely going to be  **excruciating** for you.”

He stopped, and looked directly into Hugh’s right eye before finishing his thought. “And rather satisfying for me.”

Hugh heard the sound of Petek reactivating the laser scalpel right next to his eyepiece. He closed his right eye, feeling another tear squeeze out from under his eyelid and roll down his cheek. “ _ I never knew my body was capable of producing so many tears...”  _ he thought briefly, almost humorously.

As the scalpel cut through the exterior metal of his optical array, getting closer and closer to his skin, he willed himself to clench his left fist, to fight back -- but nothing happened. He was helpless.

This constant battery of stress and pain was wearing down his defenses, and Hugh was drowning in memories and doubts that he’d kept in check for years -- some of which he hadn’t even been aware he’d been burying. They rushed into his head, choking off rational thought.

Through his hivemind memories and Collective knowledge, Hugh was aware that many organic civilizations had an attachment to historical myths -- fictional allegories that helped them conceptualize their obligations in society. Many of these myths spoke of punishment dimensions, where those who violated the allegory’s rules were sent after death. Hugh knew that these were organics’ attempts at conceptualizing their own mortality, attempts to rationalize why the myriad of unfortunate things that occurred in life were not addressed by whatever concept of justice they believed in. Hugh understood that, logically, the universe could not be controlled by a mythical deity, as so many organics continued to believe. He also did not really recall his own species’ religious beliefs, but as he fought to survive Petek’s torture, he found himself drawn to these obscure entries within his memory banks. 

And as he spiralled downward into the data, seeking a refuge of any sort, he came to a shocking realization: the Borg Queen was the closest equivalent to a god he had experienced. She controlled the universe of Cubes and Spheres and ships great and small, she created structure out of chaos through assimilation and the hivemind, and, like the Abrahamic human deity of old, she could even cast out drones when they rebelled -- which she did without hesitation, Hugh recalled with a twinge of sadness. But if the Queen was god, where did that leave Hugh, disconnected as he was from his creator? Even after having been disconnected for years, the Collective still permeated every bit of him. Dr. Petek had shown him proof of that.

If the Queen was god, was the Collective heaven? And if he was cast out of heaven, where did gods in the myths send their fallen creations?

_ ...Am I in “hell”?  _ Hugh’s mind was flailing, grasping at pieces of data flowing by him as if they were anchors in a storm.

_ Is this hell? Am I here because I deserve… punishment? I know what I did as part of the Collective. The lives I took… But I was not in control of myself! That has to mean something, correct? It wasn’t my fault…  _

A small voice, sounding remarkably like Jansin Petek, cut in.  ** _If it wasn’t your fault, then why are you here? _ ** Hugh felt his entire body go cold.

He was thrown from this new train of thought as the scalpel began cutting a jagged line across his temple and up to his forehead, tracing the outline of his eyepiece, and Hugh fought to control his body’s reactions. He felt ( **HE FELT!) ** his left hand slowly, weakly, clenching into a fist against the biobed, and it brought him a burst of hope that seemed to burn through the fog of pain and fear threatening to consume him. The last coherent thought that went through his head was one colored with anger and defiance, drowning the feelings of helplessness that had been his constant companion for however long he’d been here.

_ Whether or not this is hell... I  _ ** _will_ ** _ find a way to escape. _

Then the pain overwhelmed any thoughts at all.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note for continuity: This story occurs sometime after the events of Descent in 2070, but before the events of Unimatrix Zero in 2377, when Voyager released the pathogen that allowed drones with the recessive gene to disconnect from the hivemind. The drones Hugh’s group found in this story had been cut off from the Collective as part of the Queen’s early attempts to contain the “disease” -- before the drones were able to retain their memories of Unimatrix Zero and before the Queen was aware of the root cause of the “infection”. She “quarantined” the Collective by severing connections with ships where she had identified one or more drones with the affliction.


End file.
